


Everything He Had Dreamed Of

by ChokolatteJedi



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Backstory, Benden Weyr, Dragons, Fade to Black, First Time, Introspection, M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Questioning, Sexuality, Southern Weyr, Time Skips, Time Travel, Weyrs and Weyrlings (Dragonriders of Pern)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: Thanks to my betas, AlexSeanchai and Stonewall!I made two Teeny-tiny canon tweaks:1. K’net and the injured were also sent with F’nor’s group to Southern, to give them time to recover (because, really, it makes sense, since they knew that F’nor’s cheek was healed when he came back to check in, so why not send the wounded to get them back to fighting strength in just two days?)2. F’nor helped T’sum gather the Ladies for the aborted attack on Benden (they’re both F’lar’s wingseconds, so it would make sense if both of them went, even if we only saw F’lar give the order to T’sum)
Relationships: K'net/T'bor, Minor or Background Relationship(s), N'ton | Naton / S'len, Orth/Prideth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Everything He Had Dreamed Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lleu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleu/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas, AlexSeanchai and Stonewall!
> 
> I made two Teeny-tiny canon tweaks:  
> 1\. K’net and the injured were also sent with F’nor’s group to Southern, to give them time to recover (because, really, it makes sense, since they knew that F’nor’s cheek was healed when he came back to check in, so why not send the wounded to get them back to fighting strength in just two days?)  
> 2\. F’nor helped T’sum gather the Ladies for the aborted attack on Benden (they’re both F’lar’s wingseconds, so it would make sense if both of them went, even if we only saw F’lar give the order to T’sum)

N’ton quietly looked around at their belongings, piled haphazardly in the sand at what was to become Southern “Weyr”, and sighed. At once, here was everything he had dreamed of back as a boy in Nabol, but at the same time it was nothing like he had wished.

Lioth was amazing, fighting Thread had been terrifying yet exhilarating, but this trip _back in time_ was almost more than he could comprehend. Still, N’ton vowed to hide his confusion and shock behind a calm mask; he was a dragonrider-- no, he was a _bronze_ rider! As such, he had watched Weyrleader F’lar and the others, and knew that he had an image to maintain.

Even here, outside of Hold, Hall, and Weyr, surrounded by open spaces and greenery, he had to be strong.

\---

Lying in the shadows of High Reaches, Nabol Hold was hardly ever graced by the sight of Dragonriders flying above. When N’ton -- Naton, then -- was young, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d even seen a dragon before his Search and have fingers to spare.

After the first such occasion -- a different Search -- the harper had explained to all the students about life in the Weyr. They had already been taught their duty to the riders, of course; it was one of the first things that children learned, despite the waning threat of Thread and use of the dragons. But this sevenday, the children were apparently considered old enough to stomach more details about weyrlife itself.

For the young Naton, the thing that stood out the most was the story about mating flights. The bronze dragons would fly to catch a queen, and her rider would then have sex with the rider of the bronze. It was spoken about euphemistically, but Naton was old enough to understand the subtle reference.

That night, as he was running an errand for his father, Naton was left waiting beside one of the Hold’s hearths. There, he heard the old aunties and uncles cackling together.

“And what of those green flights, eh?” the first said, following what must have been a conversation about the queen dragon’s mating and clutch.

“What, where both riders are men? I’d think they’d each have their own bed-warmer,” said the second, dismissively.

“My mam was born in the Weyr, but would come back with her father to visit his family. She told me that they didn’t always. When their dragons rose, sometimes the riders went _with each other_!” replied the first.

He was promptly whacked with a cane. “Mind the young ears!” one of the aunties scolded.

Naton did his level best to look bored and distracted, as though he hadn’t listened to a word they’d said. It only partially worked, as they didn’t scold him for listening, but they quickly changed the topic to speculating on whether or not the dragonriders would return to fetch the girls they had spoken to in Nabol.

Once his errand was complete and his day finished, Naton had snuck off to his own bunk to think. He knew from his lessons that life was different in the Weyrs, and the harper had been fairly clear that an openness towards sex was one of those differences. If his mother’s sharp words to his father that night were any indication, she would druther the harper _not_ teach them that, but it was too late: the hide could not be returned to the beast.

But tonight’s information put a whole new spin on things. Weyrmen! Together with other Weyrmen! It staggered belief. But what if it were true? What if it were acceptable to love other men in the Weyr? What if it were acceptable to even -- maybe -- have _sex_ with them?

It had been several years ago now, when Lord Meron was still just a steward under Lord Fax, that one of his under-stewards had been outed as a boy-lover. Naton had been too young at the time to realize what it meant, but the older boys had delighted in sharing it with the group after their lessons with the harper ended.

At the time, Naton hadn’t been impressed: having sex with _anyone_ just seemed pointless and disgusting. But as he aged, Naton came to realize that sex was not necessarily as bad as he had thought. And also, that he would much rather have it with another man than with a girl. If he was Searched, and Impressed a dragon, maybe then, unlike at Nabol, he could do something about those desires?

To Naton’s delight, the queen from that Search, Ramoth, rose in flight a few years later, and hatched what the adults seemed to think was a _huge_ clutch! The word went out that Dragonriders would again come in Search, and all eligible youths were to be presented. Having been barely old enough last time, at eleven, Naton was now just shy of fifteen, and well in the middle of the acceptable age range.

Could he possibly dare to hope that he could be chosen by the Weyrmen? Or what’s more, that he could Impress? Could he be lucky enough to find succor in the welcoming space of the weyr? Dare he hope that he might even find love there?

\---

Naton had indeed been Searched, and found more than he could ever dream of with Lioth. As N’ton, he was trained with the other Weyrlings, and eventually they were even sent _back_ in time to the Southern Continent, to grow up in time to help fight against Thread.

While there, N’ton learned that he was both right and wrong in his suppositions about Weyrmen. Bronze riders were supposed to mate with queen riders, just as their dragons paired. The only Weyrmen who were openly together -- and there were few enough of them -- were green and blue riders. As a bronze rider, N’ton was _expected_ to chase after the gold riders, as his Lioth chased after their queens.

That was why, at Southern, N’ton was shocked to discover that T’bor had to maintain his relationship with Kylara in front of all in the Weyr. The fact that N’ton happened upon him kissing K’net in the back of the Fellis grove was something to be hidden, concealed, ignored.

When N’ton discreetly asked K’net about it a few sevendays later, he was informed that R’gul had impressed upon all of the young riders that, among bronzes, and to a certain extent browns, such things were not _done_. Nevermind if the old records that K’net had copied under C’gan’s watchful eye told differently, that was how R’gul expected them to behave, and F’lar had said no differently.

And so it was a long few years for N’ton, as Prideth grew, and eventually mated with Orth. Lioth rose alongside Orth and Piyanth, but N’ton’s heart wasn’t in it, and he was actually relieved that Orth was faster.

Sanalen even sought him out afterwards to comfort him, though he couldn’t know that N’ton wasn’t upset at having ‘lost’ that fight. One of the candidates for Prideth’s clutch, Sanalen had been N’ton’s responsibility to transport down to Southern, and they had hit it off right away. N’ton was only two years older, despite having been Searched earlier, because of the Weyrleader’s idea to use more mature candidates.

While the candidates were mostly tasked with building shelters and tending to those wounded riders who had been sent, Sanalen always seemed to find time to help N’ton scrub down Lioth in the lake, or unobtrusively watch as he mended his riding leathers. More and more often they would sit together at meal times, side by side, their hips pressed together slightly more than was necessary, their shoulders and elbows bumping when either reached for another bowl.

N’ton desperately wanted to kiss him some night in the back of the Fellis grove.

Instead he squashed those feelings down so deep that he didn’t even think Lioth could find them. Because the other thing that both the candidates and Weyrlings spent most of their time on was lessons. And not their harper-trained ones, though there was one former harper apprentice among N’ton’s weyrmates who led them all in a song after dinner once or twice a week. No, these were lessons in being a dragonrider. Of course, that included caring for your dragon, which these candidates got to experience before their own Impression, helping to care for the young dragons like Lioth.

The bulk of their lessons, however, were in what was expected of them as _dragonmen_. With a minimum amount of disparaging comments -- most from K’net -- they were told about the deterioration of Benden through Jora and Nemorath’s sloth, and then R’gul’s dubious policies. They covered recent Pernese history, and the way that the Holds had been allowed to slack off in their duty to the Weyr.

F’nor explained that it even got to the point where there was not enough food for man or dragon, and certain wings had been forced to go searching for it -- discreetly -- outside of the Weyr. K’net then admitted that he had not been circumspect enough in his pilfering, and that had been part of the reason (though not the only one, as T’bor and F’nor had explained) that the Lords rode against the weyr.

N’ton remembered that himself, from the point of view of one in the Hold. Lord Meron had demanded that his father’s older journeymen join the army he was forming. He had tried to insist that the apprentices -- like young Naton -- and his father must join as well, but was refused. As a Craftmaster, Hartron had a certain amount of autonomy from his Lord Holder. He allowed those journeymen who volunteered to go, without losing their spots in the Hall, but he sternly informed Meron that no masters or apprentices could be _ordered_ to attend his whims.

Naton had been ever so pleased at his father’s stance when, some sevendays later, dragons appeared for the second time in his life and whisked off Meron’s Lady and the wives of the master miner and beastherder, who had also marched off against the Weyr. Naton’s mother, pregnant with his fifth younger sibling, was left safely at home, though Naton could _swear_ the large brown dragon chuckled when it saw him standing in front of their cottage door, ready to defend her from capture.

N’ton, of course, now knew that that dragon -- Canth, who was wallowing in the sand a short distance away -- _had_ been chuckling at him, and that his bravery that day was part of why the brown had sought him out again a few months later on Search.

The points of the lessons, however, were easily burned into the minds of the Weyrlings and candidates. First, how much the Weyr relied on the Holds for sustenance, and the Holds on the Weyr for protection -- something that had become indisputable with the return of Thread the day before they left. Second, the power of a dragon, not just to fight Thread, but to zip across the continent, scare minor holders, and take what was needed, whether that be supplies or hostages, and the responsibility of the rider not to abuse that power. Third, the intelligence of the Weyrleader, and how much intelligence was valued in a dragonrider -- especially one who might become wingleader or wingsecond.

The final lesson was the one N’ton most took to heart, however. As F’nor had explained what F’lar’s wing was doing to supply the Weyr, and K’net explained - his faint blush making the Threadscore scars on his cheeks stand out - what _his_ wing had done, N’ton learned the need for discretion. It was something he had learned long ago at his father’s knee -- craft secrets were not for sharing outside the craft, nor were family or hold secrets -- and had reinforced over the years. Meron had overplayed his hand marching up to the doors of the Weyr (no discretion at all) and look how that had gone for him.

But discretion did not just apply to the big things, like craft secrets and going back in time to the Southern Continent; it applied to the little ones too. Discretion applied to curiosity, and desire. It was what let him overhear old uncles by the fire without them realizing, and what held his tongue on who he would prefer to bed. Discretion was seeing K’net and T’bor in the grove and slipping away before they realized it. Discretion was waiting to go over such things in his own mind until Lioth was asleep, and others like Canth were unlikely to overhear.

Discretion was knowing that he might just love Sanalen, and his wild hope that the other boy might impress a green, instead of the bronze most boys aspired to, and knowing that he could never voice those thoughts aloud. And when Bigath popped her shell and hobbled directly at Sanalen, transforming him into green rider S’len, discretion allowed N’ton to express his happiness for his friend without a hint of his own desire showing through.

They spent two more years in the past, and N’ton feared that Prideth might rise again to mate, though there were now several other bronzes for Lioth to ‘compete’ with. He also, secretly, hoped and feared that Bigath would rise. Part of him desperately wanted Lioth to catch her, to allow him the hope of connecting with S’len in that moment. But a larger part of N’ton feared the rejection he might face if that happened, or the scorn of the others for a bronze deigning to chase a green.

Other greens had risen, from both his hatchmates and the wing of older dragons sent with them, and each time the three bronzes had been indifferent, cementing K’net’s information that bronzes were to be matched with queens only. According to their lessons, during a Pass, queens could rise and clutch twice a year. But despite more than enough time having passed after her first clutch, Prideth did not rise again.

It seemed that, though the dragons did not appear affected by the time travel, the increasing discomfort from their riders did hamper them somewhat. That, or the timing had confused Prideth enough to think that it was an interval and she didn’t _need_ to rise again. Whatever the reason, N’ton was grateful.

\---

After six years in the past -- the last fairly agonizing -- the group returned to Benden Weyr in the proper time. The adults who had accompanied them -- a mixed wing mostly composed of those riders injured in the first fall, to give them time to recover their strength -- returned to their own weyrs, as did Kylara to the queens’ level. N’ton’s group had been in the Weyrling barracks when they left, but both they and those of Prideth’s clutch were now well grown. Headwoman Manora quickly arranged real weyrs for all seventy-two of them.

The next morning, when he arose and walked out to the ledge of his new weyr, N’ton felt better than he had in several years of past time. At the same time, he was aware that things were, for lack of a better word, looser in the past. Instead of a growing child, one step ahead of the candidates, N’ton was now twenty-two, a fully grown and trained bronze rider.

F’nor and T’bor had broken them down into wings, in the past, each with a bronze wingleader and two wingseconds. Until Prideth’s clutch had increased the number of bronzes, the older browns had rotated through the wingleader position alongside N’ton. Once the second clutch matured, things were more formalized, and with fifteen bronzes, the browns were knocked down from even the wingsecond position.

Normally, they had been taught, a fighting wing was thirty-three strong, comprising a wingleader, two seconds, and two half-wings of fifteen. Because of the decreased numbers at the Weyr, currently wings were twenty strong, with each half-wing containing only nine dragons. With seventy-two, between the two clutches, they were formed into four wings of eighteen -- smaller than the others, and only barely larger than a half-wing of old, but they would have to do.

N’ton, of course, led one, with W’low of bronze Byreth and J’hon of bronze Mirth as his seconds. T’gellan and Monarth, M’tok and Litorth, and R’mel and Sorenth were the other three wingleaders, and the four had practiced flight drills with their wings so much, N’ton thought he could fight Thread in his sleep.

Now, his wing had loosely clumped themselves together in the empty weyrs. The bronzes were near the bottom, in deference to their rank, while the others ranged above them. Standing on the ledge this morning, N’ton craned his neck up to see how his wing had arranged themselves. Byreth and Mirth were sunning themselves on the ledges either side of him, as was proper for wingseconds. Above Byreth was L’vel’s blue, Roith, and beyond him was brown Chenth, of V’may. And there, on the ledge directly above his own, N’ton recognized the hanging green tail as belonging to Bigath; none of the others had that two-tone look to their tail ridges.

S’len had chosen the weyr directly above him! N’ton immediately worked to school his expression and continue with his casual perusal of the cliff face. S’len could have simply chosen this weyr because they were friends; there was absolutely no reason for him to read any further into that. That excuse was born out by the presence of a green -- he thought it G’sel’s Siroth -- in the weyr closest to T’gellan’s; it didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Even if he wished that it did.

N’ton quickly glanced at Lioth, but his bronze was sunning himself blissfully. N’ton had forgotten, in six years, how chilly it was in Benden, even in the spring. It appeared that most of their dragons were fighting the chill in the warm morning sun.

It wasn’t that N’ton didn’t want to share his thoughts with Lioth -- he had debated with himself more than once over that fact. In truth, Lioth shared N’ton’s heart and soul, but what should have been comforting was part of the problem.

What if Lioth had actually wanted Prideth, and was disappointed he had failed to catch her? What if he rose, more determined, the next time and actually won the flight? Or what if N’ton’s own distaste for Kylara hampered his dragon somehow? What if, when Bigath rose, Lioth felt prompted to fly her, because of N’ton’s own feelings? What if he inadvertently influenced his bronze in a way that he shouldn’t?

Somehow K’net and T’bor made their relationship work, but N’ton suspected that was because the two bronzes would always be competitors. With S’len having a green, and N’ton a bronze instead of brown or blue, it raised complications.

N’ton’s father was a tanner, his mother of the beasthall; he knew more about breeding stock than he might like. With dragonkind so sparse, N’ton knew it was the duty of the bronzes to fly the queens and produce eggs; green’s couldn’t clutch, and so couldn’t make up the shortfall. Despite Prideth’s clutch bringing the number of bronzes up to almost two dozen, N’ton still feared his thoughts might cause major disruptions if they leaked to Lioth.

N’ton quietly looked around Benden Weyr and sighed. At once, here was everything he had dreamed of back as a boy in Nabol -- but at the same time, it was nothing like he had wished. But he knew the meaning of discretion, and he would do his best to hide both his desires and his disappointment from everyone, even his beloved bronze dragon.

\---

It wasn’t until the second buck that N’ton, distracted by his conversation with T’gellan, realized that Lioth was only blooding his kills. He glanced at Monarth, and found that the other bronze was happily munching away. N’ton swung his gaze back, but Lioth was still unmistakably blooding.

Something in his expression, or how he had let the conversation trail off, brought the situation to T’gellan’s attention. His gaze also swung between the bronzes, before he glanced around the bowl. Following his gaze, N’ton noticed two blues hovering at the edge of the bowl, clearly waiting for the bronzes to finish eating. The jerky movements of their heads were out of the ordinary, but it niggled at something in N’ton’s memory.

As they watched, a brown very daringly flew down from his weyr to the herds and picked out his own kill, settling far enough away from the two bronzes to not upset them. Like Lioth, the brown also blooded his kill.

It finally occurred to N'ton that the dragons were preparing for a mating flight. It had to be of a green, or the brown -- and certainly the blues -- wouldn’t dare to compete. His brain hadn’t made the connection right away, as Lioth was _also_ preparing. It simply did not add up in his mind.

Nor did the friendly bump T’gellan gave his shoulder. N’ton glanced at his friend, who was grinning widely. He then nodded up at the bowl wall, drawing N’ton’s attention up. There, right above his own weyr, lay Bigath on her ledge, glowing an usually brilliant green.

“Bigath rises shortly,” T’gellan said, sounding almost smug. “I’ll give you a lift.”

“A lift?” N’ton repeated blankly. He understood the individual words, but they refused to coalesce into logical sense right now.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” T’gellan shook his head sympathetically, then turned to Monarth. “Come on you great lug; you can finish feeding after all the fuss is over.”

The next thing N’ton realized, T’gellan was pulling him up onto an obliging Monarth’s back. “I don’t-- bronzes don’t fly greens.” N’ton protested, even as he settled in behind T'gellan.

“Pshaw,” the weyrbred rider scoffed over his shoulder. “It isn’t unheard of. And everyone knows that the riders can influence their choices.”

“But I didn’t! I didn’t influence Lioth!” N’ton protested. This was exactly what he had feared; he shouldn’t harm Lioth’s chances in this way. “I was careful--” He quickly bit his tongue to keep back what he had tried so hard to never reveal.

“They always know,” T’gellan replied with a shrug.

They had landed on the ledge, and N’ton accepted the helping hand down before he even realized that this was the wrong weyr. “This isn’t--”

“I put you exactly where you’re supposed to be,” T’gellan replied smugly, nodding at the brightly glowing Bigath.

“But I never--” He’d tried so hard to be discreet!

“No, you were sharding good at hiding how you felt,” T’gellan acknowledged easily. “And you’re not the one I figured it out from. But I’d be a poor second if I didn’t help a wingmate out,” he added with a wink.

“N’ton? T’gellan?” S’len asked, emerging from his weyr onto the ledge.

“And I’ve done my duty,” T’gellan said with a smirk and a mocking salute. “I think we’ll finish lunch out in Keroon.” He gently slapped Monarth’s neck and then they were aloft, leaving N’ton stranded.

“What was that about?” S’len asked.

“Lioth and several others are blooding their kills,” N’ton said absently, his mind still furiously working through the implications of T’gellan’s words.

“Prideth rises?” S’len glanced down at the bowl, and N’ton could see the moment he realized that it was not the bronzes who were feeding. His gaze shot back to Bigath, clearly taking in what N’ton and T’gellan had seen. “Oh.”

He looked back down at the bowl. “Lioth too, you said?” His voice was steady until the last word.

“He is,” N’ton admitted. “I didn’t think-- that is-- T’gellan said you wouldn’t object?” He hated how uncertain he sounded, how his usual confidence had been shredded by T’gellan’s casual revelations.

“T’gellan has a big mouth,” S’len grumbled. Then he reconsidered, glancing again between the dragons below and Bigath, who was beginning to stir. “But you-- you don’t mind? You-- I mean… you’d not rather Lioth have a queen?”

“I don’t much mind who Lioth chases. Honestly, I didn’t think he’d ever go for a green,” N’ton admitted. “But, if you’re asking who _I’d_ prefer…” Time for him to show a dragonrider’s courage, and discretion be damned. “Then T’gellan dropped me at the right -- the only -- weyr.”

S’len’s eyes grew wide, before he all but pounced on N’ton, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a bruising kiss. Beside them, Bigath bugled loudly, and distantly N’ton thought he heard Lioth do the same.

\---

N’ton quietly looked around Benden Weyr, and sighed contentedly. The glowing morning sunlight splashed across the far side of the weyr, highlighting the lumps of dragon bodies still slumbering on their ledges. Beside him Lioth and Bigath, still a tangle of wings, tails, and necks, did the same. Idly, N’ton wondered if they’d wake before his stomach drove him down to the lower caverns. He doubted it, but they might prevail upon T’gellan again.

A hand snaked around his waist from behind. The other, half wrapped in sleeping furs, soon followed. N’ton was tempted to pull S’len around in front of him, but he could feel from the press of their bodies that, though he had pulled his trousers back on before coming out, he was the only one.

“ _They_ won’t be rousing soon,” S’len murmured, his lips brushing against N’ton’s bare spine.

“Are you hungry?” N’ton asked. “I think I could prod Monarth into giving us a ride.”

“Mmm, not yet,” S’len hummed. He tugged N’ton closer, giving N’ton a clear impression of what he’d prefer this morning.

N’ton chuckled. “You’re voracious,” he taunted.

S’len shrugged unapologetically. “Now that I’ve finally got you in my weyr? I’m making up for lost turns.”

N’ton couldn’t dispute that, and he allowed S’len to tug him back inside. Though part of his mind wanted to worry about what had happened, or to slip away before too many could realize that he had given in to his desires, the larger part of N’ton wanted to be exactly where he was. Right here, on this ledge, was everything he had dreamed of back as a boy in Nabol, and it was so much better than he had wished.


End file.
